Don't Look Back in Anger
by ariel2me
Summary: Three times Stannis and Robert did not get along, and the one time they did.


**Three times Stannis and Robert did not get along, and the one time they did.**

"I never loved my brothers," Robert had told Ned Stark when he was dying, but he did not add to that the words that were foremost in his mind – "_not like I have loved you, Ned_." Renly was a child to him, would forever be a child to Robert no matter how strong or charming he grew, more akin to a distant nephew to Robert than a brother he could share his troubles and his joy with.

Stannis though, Stannis was another matter altogether. "_Why should I love him, when he despises me so?_" Robert would protest to his mother from time to time, back when she was still living, but later too, when she was but a vague memory in his mind. Their mother had despaired of the two of them ever getting along.

_Why should I love him, when he constantly judges me as wanting in every way possible?_

_Why should I love him, when he does not love me?_

The last time he saw Stannis, they had argued furiously. Robert was grieving for the man who had been his father, advisor and friend all rolled into one, and all Stannis wanted to talk about was the appointment of a new Hand, to replace the one who was not yet cold in his grave. Robert had held Jon Arryn's hand as the man lay dying, wishing with all his heart that Ned was there with them too, that Ned could share in his grief and his sorrow. His loss.

Stannis certainly couldn't. He tolerated Jon Arryn perhaps slightly more than he tolerated most people, but there was no fondness there, at least not any that Robert could see.

_He was like a father to me! At least do me the courtesy of leaving me to grieve in peace before you act like all the other vultures circling the corpse._

But once Stannis had a notion in his head, he was like a dog with a bone who refused to let go, no matter what. He was still going on and on about the new Hand. Robert was barely listening to him, drowning his sorrows with wine.

"Cersei is going to push for her brother Jaime Lannister to be appointed Hand of the King. You must not give way in this matter. You must refuse her," Stannis insisted.

Robert sighed. The Lannisters and their many misdeeds was a favorite Stannis subject. He could grumble and whine for hours about that. "Jaime's father was a lot younger when he was made Hand of the King. There is no reason why Jaime Lannister would not do as good a job as my Hand," Robert replied, irritated with his brother. He had no intention of making Jaime Lannister his Hand, but he deeply resented Stannis trying to dictate what he should and should not do. What he could and could not do.

_Just like Cersei. They are two peas in a pod, my wife and my brother_. _Always telling me what to do. Always judging me, disapproving of everything I do._

_He_ was king, Robert Baratheon, first of his name. Not Cersei, and certainly not Stannis.

Not that he ever wanted the throne in the first place. And the Iron Throne had never given him a moment of peace since he first sat on it.

Lyanna would never have tried to tell him what to do. Ned wouldn't either. He missed them both. _They_ were the ones who should be by his side. Instead, he was stuck with Stannis and Cersei.

"It's absurd!" Stannis exploded. "What does Jaime Lannister know about being Hand of the King? The man can smile prettily and he is good with a sword, I'd grant him that, but he knows nothing about the business of the realm, about ruling."

Robert frowned. "Ruling? I am the king, ruling is _my_ business, not the Hand's. Or have you forgotten that?"

"Tell that to Jon Arryn," Stannis replied scornfully. "If it weren't for him –"

"Don't!" Robert shouted. "You have no right to invoke his name. Not _my_ Jon."

The sound of Stannis grinding his teeth was driving Robert crazy. Hearing Stannis' voice was almost a relief in comparison, even if the words were as judging and disdainful as always. "It is for Jon Arryn's sake that I am telling you this, Robert. Jaime Lannister must not be your Hand. _Never_. It would be a travesty beyond belief, after …" Stannis' voice trailed off, as he seemed to reconsider his words.

"After what?" Robert demanded.

Robert waited impatiently while Stannis seemed to struggle with his words. "I can't tell you right now. I need more time, to confirm certain things, so that it can be proven beyond dispute. But you have to trust me," Stannis finally said.

The only man Robert trusted was currently thousands of miles away in the North. With Jon gone, he needed Ned by his side.

"Will you promise me that you will not appoint Jaime Lannister as your Hand?" Stannis was not done pushing him.

"Enough! I have no intention of making my wife's brother Hand of the King. Ned Stark will be my Hand, and that's that," Robert announced with a finality that brooked no argument.

Stannis and Cersei would both dislike that decision, Robert thought, almost with relish. _Perhaps they could bond over their anger and disappointment._ Robert laughed at the thought of that.

But there was to be no bonding between Stannis and Cersei, or between Stannis and anyone else. Stannis was long gone from King's Landing by the time Robert came home after his trip to Winterfell. _He is sulking, just like always,_Robert thought at first. _He will be back soon. Stannis wouldn't be able to resist telling me and Ned how much we're screwing up and ruining the kingdom._

But Robert never saw his brother again. Never had the chance to apologize; not that there was anything in particular he felt he had to apologize to Stannis about. He was not in the wrong about granting Stannis the lordship of Dragonstone. Why should he apologize for that? Stannis should be grateful that he was given the seat usually reserved for the Crown Prince and heir to the throne.

_ I could have given Dragonstone to my firstborn, to Joffrey._ Storm's End was safe, Dragonstone was vulnerable and therefore needed a strong lord. That had been the only calculation driving his decision. But of course Stannis being Stannis, he had to see everything in terms of slights and punishments, all ridiculous as far as Robert was concerned. He would never apologize for that, would never give Stannis the satisfaction of thinking that he had been right to complain and grumble about "_losing_" Storm's End, when it was never his to begin with.

The unfortunate occurrence on Stannis' wedding night, on the other hand, was a different matter altogether. Robert had apologized to his brother the next morning, sincerely and abjectly, but Stannis had refused to accept his apology.

"I was drunk. I didn't even know which room we were in. If I had known it was your wedding chamber … your wedding bed … I would never –"

"So the wine made you do it?" Stannis scoffed.

"Delena was not drunk. She should have said something. She must have known what room we were in. If only Delena –"

"You're blaming her?" Stannis stared at Robert incredulously. "That girl was scared out of her wits, and you're blaming her? At least Delena had the courtesy to look guilty and embarrassed when we caught you both in bed. You were grinning and laughing as if it was the funniest thing in the world."

"I told you, I was drunk!" Robert protested.

"That is your excuse for everything, it seems. A saner and wiser man would perhaps rethink his choices, but no, not my brother Robert. Why stop drinking when it gives you the perfect excuse for any wrongdoing? _I was too drunk to care that the realm is plunging into debt_. _I was too drunk to know that corrupt officials were taking bribes and ensuring that justice is made a mockery of every single day in the kingdom._"

They had had this conversation before, about his drinking, back when Robert was only lord of Storm's End and not yet ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Father would have been sorely disappointed," Stannis had admonished Robert, when he woke up too drunk to hold court for the smallfolks. Again.

The mention of their dead father angered Robert, but he tried to appear indifferent and uncaring in front of his censorious brother. He would not give Stannis the satisfaction. "What difference does it make? You were there in my place," he replied blithely.

"I am not the lord of Storm's End! You are. You can't be shirking your duties forever," Stannis said heatedly.

"Oh just admit it, Stannis. You enjoy playing lord. You like showing off that you can do a better job than I can. In fact, you probably think you would make a much better lord of Storm's End."

"Only because you refuse to take your duty seriously!"

They were both shouting at that point, furious with each other. They would have come to blows if it weren't for Maester Cressen and his sorrow-laden words and looks. "I have failed your lord father," Cressen had said, near tears.

"You haven't failed anyone, maester," Robert tried to reassure the maester. "This is Sta … this is our own fault, Stannis and I. Not you."

"You have done your duty and protected us, maester," Stannis said stiffly. _Duty_, Robert scoffed silently. It was always about duty with Stannis. But Robert kept the smile on his face to try to comfort the poor old man.

When Father and Mother died, even Cressen's kind and well-meaning words failed to provide any comfort and reassurance to Robert. Great Uncle Harbert the castellan of Storm's End at the time tried too, to no avail. Even the letters from Jon Arryn and Ned seemed hollow. They meant well, but how could they understand what it was like? What it had been like for him, standing wordless and motionless on that parapet, watching the storm and the waves batter Windproud into oblivion. He had been too stunned to say or do anything, except grasping Stannis' hand and burying his nails into Stannis' palm. Stannis had not flinched or made any sound. But Robert could see that his lips were moving, that he was muttering something quietly.

"Did I do that?" He asked Stannis later, when he saw the bruises on his brother's hand.

Stannis nodded, but said nothing. He had not said a word to Robert since the bodies were found washed up on the beach two days before.

"What were you saying, on the parapet?" Robert asked.

Stannis frowned. "I wasn't saying anything," he muttered under his breath.

"You were! Your lips were moving. I saw you," Robert insisted.

Stannis groaned. "What does it matter? Now, of all time."

It didn't, not really. But Robert was sick of the silence, sick of the quietness enveloping the castle like a fatal illness.

A thought struck him suddenly. "You were praying, weren't you?" He asked Stannis in an accusatory tone.

His brother was incapable of lying. So he ignored Robert's question instead, which told Robert all he needed to know.

"What were you praying for?" Robert demanded.

Stannis stared at him with disdain, as if to say – _Are you a complete fool?_

"It didn't work, did it? Following all the rules and being a good boy and praying to the gods like a good boy should; none of it worked. Mother and Father still died." He was taunting his brother, but not for any reason he knew. Not this time. But he could not stop himself. He waited for Stannis to explode with anger and fury. Perhaps a fist-fight, or a wrestling match. That would make Robert feel better. Stannis would never admit it, but Robert suspected hitting something, or someone, would make Stannis feel a lot better too.

"They are your mother and father too," Stannis said, but without the anger and fury Robert was expecting. "You lost them too."

He cried. Robert cried as he had never done before, and never would again in his life. Stannis walked to the door and closed it firmly, and waited patiently for his brother to stop crying.


End file.
